Where Did They Come From?
by Furret the Sparrowsong
Summary: When strange dolls start appearing and turning into children resembling the nations, who is there to blame? Especially when it reeks of magic and Norway and England both swear they aren't involved.


**Hello! Yet another story idea! Like I really need more to do...**

**Anyway, this is really random, and I don't yet know where I'm going with the ending. But I have a vague idea, so it's all good!**

**Yeah, so, R&R please?**

**P.S. All pairings used in here are listed on my profile.**

**P.S.x2 Also, there is multiple points of view to be used in this story, all in first person.**

**Warning: Lovesick Denmark for a little while. Sorry, but it was kind of fun to write him that way. xD**

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Chapter One: What is This?

~Denmark POV~

I look at the ceiling. It's a plain white, except where there's a yellow-ish water stain. I smile slightly in memory of Finland's frantic expression when he realized he left the faucet on, and Norway's... Well, I suppose it was just Norway's usual expression. But, that's a good enough reason to remember it, right? Norge was there, so it's an automatic reason to smile about it.

I turn my head to the right, looking out the window. It's dusk, the light yellows, (coincidentally almost the same color as the water stain on the ceiling) oranges, and pinks fading into a light blue, which would later turn a dark navy-purple color. There's a dusting of stars starting to show over it all.

In my mind, everything gets connected to Norge. The yellows the same color as the water stain. The oranges and pinks the colors of the flowers I got him that one time. The light blue the color of the ocean when we visited Seychelles (the island, not the nation). And the darkest of them is his eyes.

I miss him, I really do. It's not fair that Sweden (of all people, why him?) gets to be connected by land to my Norge when I don't. Not to mention that my boss is a jerk and won't hook me up with tickets on the ferry every day to go see him (Norge, not my boss). And even then, I wouldn't have enough time. Six hours there and back is all time I could be using for Norway. Gah, geography hates me. I suppose I just have to make do with world meetings and every once in a while some Nordic meeting.

My thoughts are distracted by a pinprick of light streaking across the sky. Blinking confusedly, I get up out of bed – Norway used to sleep there – and walked downstairs. Turning the knob and pushing the door open, I realize the pinpricks have multiplied, shooting across the night. Leaning inside to grab my jacket and slippers (which are _black,_ not pink), I begin to walk out across the snow, hearing it go _crunch!_ beneath my feet.

I tilt my head back and stare at the meteor shower, mouth slightly agape. I don't remember hearing on the news about there being on tonight. It's not like I pay much attention to the news anyway, but meteors are cool.

I stay outside until no more brilliant strokes appear. My neck hurts and my feet are cold, but it was so worth it. Not like I would tell many people about it, but I love to watch the stars. Just the thought of burning balls of gas _kilometers_ away makes me itch to break out that old telescope. But Sweden bought it, so that's never happening.

On the way back in, I do a double-take when I see something move in my peripheral vision. "Carlsberg! You scared the hell outta me!" I say to the large brown and white cat rubbing up against my legs. I reach down to pet him, but pause when I notice he has something in his mouth.

"Carl, drop it," I command. After butting his head up against my hand, he complies. I pick up the... doll? Yes, that's what it is. A small fabric doll, completely featureless. I shrug and put it in my pocket. Sealand has been complaining about how I never give him presents, this might shut him up.

I walk inside (with Carl at my heels), shed my jacket, and sit at the kitchen table. Sighing, I pick up the glass of water on the table (How long has it been there? Two days? Three?) and take a drink. It's kind of warm.

"I might as well try sleeping tonight, although it hasn't been happening for the last two. Come on, Carlsberg," I mutter, setting the water and the doll (**A/N He got it out while he was talking.**) on the smooth wood. I head upstairs and collapse on my bed.

~Norway POV~

I wake up to the sound of Denmark's voice in my home.

"Norge, I know that you haven't picked up at all in the past two and a half hours and that you're probably asleep, but this is really freaky and I need to know what you think happened and what I should do. I'll be there in about 25 minutes, bye."

I groan. Who knows what Denmark is going on about now? And how many messages can he leave in a little over two hours?

But... He sounded really worried and frantic. Denmark doesn't get like that too often, and when he does, he _never actually comes over._ Says it would ruin my 'awesome image' of him.

_Maybe this is just him making excuses so he can come over here, _I think to myself as I walk into the bathroom.

– a short shower and hair drying later –

"You do realize it's not polite to just barge into people's houses, right Den?" I say as I walk towards my door, putting in my Nordic Cross pin.

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by his arms, my body pressed against his in a tight hug. I stand there for about five seconds before pushing him back, looking at his face. I can feel my indifferent expression sliding. _Normally he would have said "Fine!" then walked back outside and rung the doorbell. There really is something wrong, isn't there?_

"Mathias, what happened? You're missing all those stupid jokes of yours," I murmur, examining his eyes. They look like his voice sounded on his message; frantic and unsure.

"I just woke up and she was in my kitchen and she only knew her name and the doll was gone and-" I cut him off with a finger to his lips.

"First off, who is 'she?'" I ask.

He steps to the side, and I see a little girl (dressed in what looks to be Iceland's old clothes) with cerulean blue eyes and platinum blond hair that looks like... mine?


End file.
